


Heaven (is a place on Earth)

by grydo2life



Category: Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angels, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-25
Updated: 2011-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grydo2life/pseuds/grydo2life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shige does not believe in angels. But it’s kind of hard for him to remain a skeptic when one shows up in his dorm room, feathers and everything, and insists he’s there to answer a prayer that Shige didn’t make to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven (is a place on Earth)

**Author's Note:**

> The was written for owaranai_natsu on LJ, as part of the JE_otherworlds exchange. The title was taken from the song "Heaven is a Place on Earth" by Belinda Carlisle, and makes for good listening while reading, if you're so inclined.

Koyama’s first assignment comes to him in what would be, if he were on Earth, the middle of the night. He’s the first one to see it, darting back and forth among the forms of his brothers and sisters, small but fast. It’s in the form of a hovering ball of light, the glow of it standing out sharply against the backdrop of Heaven, and when it crashes into Koyama, the strength of it is nearly enough to send him tumbling.

Inside, a human voice calls out, and Koyama, holding the prayer carefully in his hands, like it’s something impossibly fragile and delicate, tips it close to hear it more clearly.

The voice is surprisingly loud, interlaced with a feeling of need and want that makes Koyama’s soul clench and ache with the desire to soothe it. There’s desperation, too, and beneath that, a layer of disbelief and self-criticism, the sign of one whose faith is unsteady. It’s not a terribly urgent call; in fact, it’s fairly minor, and Koyama feels a brief spark of disappointment that his first assignment isn’t something a bit more important.

But that feeling is drowned out quickly by the reminder that he finally, _finally_ has his first charge, and behind him, his wings quiver in excitement at the very thought.

He’s been waiting so long for this, sitting patiently in the background as his siblings worked, eager for his own turn to do his duty; to help and heal and comfort. It’s all he’s ever wanted, what he was born for, and remaining patient has been difficult, and at times, discouraging. He’d started to give up, and now, he scolds himself for that; he should have known better.

But it doesn’t matter now. He has his _assignment_. The thought sends a thrill of delight down his spine, so strong he feels a few feathers displace themselves as his wings ruffle in response.

This will not be his first time leaving Heaven, but it will be his first trip to Earth. The thought of it is as terrifying as it is exciting.

He can’t wait.

* * *

Shige generally likes to think of himself as the reasonable sort. He’s equal parts logic, common sense, and realism, and maybe there’s a little bit of skepticism and cynicism mixed in there too. But he’s happy the way he is, comfortable with his habits and beliefs, or lack thereof in the latter case. He’s not prone to flights of fancy or fits of overactive imagination, and, most importantly, he doesn’t _want_ to be.

This is why, when he twists to peer over his shoulder, because he swears he hears a weird flapping noise, and comes face to face with a tall man with, dear God, wings, actual _wings_ , he’s fairly certain he’s either dreaming, hallucinating, or just plain crazy.

And, well. He’s not dreaming. That much is evident from the pain in his knee when he cracks it against his desk in shock. And he’s never been particularly inclined towards hallucinations, even when sick and fever stricken. But there is a distinct possibility that he may have finally cracked and lost his mind; stress can do that to a person. (And if he has, he is so blaming Tegoshi.)

“Hello, Shigeaki,” the winged man says, and Shige has to fight back a shiver at the sound of his voice, because it’s warm and gentle and kind of like ringing bells, and _holy fuck_ , he really has lost it.

Oh well. He hears the mental health facilities in Tokyo are rather nice.

* * *

“An _angel_?” Shige thinks that maybe that was a bit rude, but in his defense, incredulity is probably the least offensive of all the reactions he ran through in the split second after this strange man informed him of what he is.

The winged man is now sitting on Shige’s bed, his wings folded around his body in a way that seems like it should be uncomfortable. They’re very impressive, those wings; large and long, stretching from over the man’s head to the floor. They’re a strange color, too; not the stereotypical white you see in most depictions, nor even the glossy black that’s become popular in more recently years, but a rich, golden brown. Like a hawk’s, Shige thinks, only lighter.

They also look impossibly soft. Shige has a strong urge to reach out and pet them, just to see if they feel like they look. He wonders if they’d be warm under his fingers, and then shakes himself, because that train of thought is wrong in so many ways.

The man, to his credit, looks more amused than insulted by Shige’s lack of belief. “Yes,” he says, snapping the college student out of his wing-molesting fantasy. “That’s right.”

“Huh,” is all Shige can really think to say. A part of him is recoiling, wanting to deny it and call the man crazy. But he squishes that part, because he is very much a _believe it when I have proof_ sort of person, and right now, that proof is staring him in the face in the form of twitching feathers and narrow brown eyes. He’s not a hypocrite, thank you very much. The jury is still out on his sanity, however. “So, um… Mr. Angel…”

“Koyama.” The angel offers with a bright smile.

“…Koyama.” Shige allows, and then frowns around the syllables, not because they’re foreign, but because they _aren’t_. “They give you guys Japanese names up there?”

“It’s the closest your language can come,” ‘Koyama’ explains cheerfully.

That makes sense.

…well, no, actually, it _doesn’t_ , but it’s about as reasonable as the idea that he has an _angel_ sitting on his bed, and Shige thinks that if he tries to overanalyze this, his brain might explode. He is suddenly painfully glad that he doesn’t have a roommate this year, because if he did, this would probably be the moment he would chose to come in, and Shige doesn’t think he could handle that.

“Okay. So, _Koyama_ ,” Shige tries again, looking anywhere but at those wings, because every time he does, that same urge as before comes back. “…why are you here?”

Koyama tilts his head in a way that’s actually very attractive, and Shige suddenly finds that it’s not just his wings that he feels an urge to touch anymore. “To help.”

“Help?”

“You.” And there’s that smile again. “You prayed for me.” Behind him, his wings make a strange aborted motion, like they want to flutter, but have suddenly remembered that there’s very little room to do so. But even half-finished, there’s something almost jubilant in the movement; a sort of childlike delight. It’s strangely endearing.

Shige is reluctant to burst his little bubble of happy, but… “No, I didn’t.”

Koyama frowns and his wings slouch a bit, and Shige’s fingers twitch with the urge to reach out for them. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t,” he assures, certainty lacing his voice.

“I think I would have remembered praying for an… angel…” Shige responds skeptically, and then adds under his breath, “Or praying at all.” Koyama’s frown deepens, and Shige flushes a bit, wondering if he heard. Raising his voice, he went on, “Are you sure you’re not here for someone else? It’s a big dorm.”

This time Koyama looks rather offended. Shige hates the fact that he feels guilty; usually he doesn’t even _care_. “I would _know_ ,” the angel says sternly, and Shige waits for him to finish, but that’s all he says.

He doesn’t really have it in him to argue, so instead, he decides to indulge the other. After all, how often does one end up with an angel in their dorm room? “Alright,” Shige concedes, eyeing Koyama carefully. But mostly his wings. “So what was it I prayed for, then?” Admittedly, he’s a little bit curious himself.

“Help.”

“Help with what?”

Koyama frowns slowly, and Shige realizes with no small amount of incredulity that he seems to not know. “You know, I didn’t really think about that.” The angel admits, sounding sheepish, looking a bit embarrassed. “All the prayer said was ‘help’.”

Because that’s so useful. This, Shige realizes, is going to be a trying experience. He wonders how he’s going to handle it with school weighing so heavily over him.

* * *

When Shige wakes up the next morning, sluggish and exhausted from too little sleep and his back aching from having dozed off on his desk, Koyama is gone, and there is no trace of him anywhere. Shige is left to wonder if maybe it wasn’t just a dream, or a figment of his tired mind’s imagination. Surveying his room, finding not so much as a feather to prove that last night actually happened, he’s not sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed.

Despite himself, Shige thinks the night before had been rather nice. Koyama had been pleasant company – disregarding the whole _I’m an angel_ thing, anyway – and Shige had actually enjoyed their conversation, once it had shifted away from the otherwordly and redirected itself into something a little more normal. As normal as it could have been, anyway, given the circumstances. (Strange, but he’s never really thought of angels as the type to make small talk. Koyama hadn’t been particularly good at it, certainly, but it was actually kind of cute, watching him try.)

Assuming, of course, that it was _real_ , he reminds himself, right before he catches sight of his clock and realizes he has a class in 10 minutes and he’s 15 minutes away from the classroom, and then he’s too busy running to focus on those thoughts.

Still, he finds himself distracted the entire time, unable to focus, his mind instead being drawn to images of brown feathers and a strange feeling of warmth in his chest that he can’t quite explain.

* * *

The lecture seems to drag on forever. Shige usually enjoys this particular class, but today, it feels more like torture than anything else. Long, drawn-out torture that can’t end soon enough, as far as he’s concerned. He’s relieved when it’s finally over, but feels oddly heavy as he heads back to his dorm room. He knows why, but he doesn’t like it. Angel or not, they only met the night before, and Shige does not believe in love at first sight.

He _doesn’t_.

When he finally reaches his room and pulls open the door, the first thing he sees is the feathers, a lighter shade of brown in the sunlight of his unblocked window.

Koyama is sitting on his bed like he’d never left, wings looking cramped in the tiny space. When he notices Shige, he beams, and if the room gets any brighter, Shige pretends not to notice. He’s never had anyone be so happy to see him, he realizes, as the heaviness that’s been looming over him lifts and the warmth from before seeps back into him.

And, well. Shit. So much for not believing.

* * *

“So, where’d you go?” Shige asks a little bit later, after Koyama has asked about his day and actually looked interested in what he had to say, something Shige is unused to. “I woke up and you were gone.”

Koyama tilts his head thoughtfully. “I went to see my brothers and sisters.” He says evenly. “To ask for advice.” He looks a little bit embarrassed at this, like it’s something to be ashamed of. And maybe it is, for all Shige knows about angelic culture. Rubbing the back of his neck, feeling somewhat awkward, Shige waits for him to continue, but when he doesn’t, realizes he’ll have to lead the conversation.

“So, what did they say?”

A thoughtful sort of frown made itself known, and Koyama’s wings twitched a bit. “They told me that I can’t come home until I’ve finished this assignment,” he says, and his tone suggests that he already knows this and doesn’t appreciate having it reiterated. “They also mentioned that it’s possible your prayer was subconscious, which is why you don’t remember it.” Shige raises an eyebrow, but otherwise doesn’t comment on it. Koyama suddenly looks uncomfortable, and one feathered appendage flexes almost nervously. “They suggested I… _shadow_ you. To get a better understanding of your life, so I can figure out what you need.”

Shige takes a moment to process this. A very long moment, during which his brain _might_ short circuit a bit, trying to wrap around the idea. Koyama looks like he’s on the verge of squirming, afraid that Shige might reject the idea out of hand.

“…shadow me…” Shige finally echoes, mindfully. “You mean… follow me around? All the time?” Koyama nods slowly, and Shige wonders whether the tiny thrill he gets out of the idea is strong enough to balance out the creepy factor in being stalked by something not quite human. “For how long?”

“As long as it takes.”

Which could mean anything, but instead of thinking about that, or even the inconvenience this is going to present to him, Shige’s thoughts are instant focused on something else. “And what happens when you figure out what I need?”

Koyama smiled, very softly. “I fulfill it to the best of my ability.”

“And after that?”

Another head tilt, accompanied by a somewhat confused expression, as though Koyama can’t quite comprehend the relevance of this question. “I return to Heaven,” he says simply, his tone suggesting that this should be something that Shige already knows, “and wait for my next assignment.”

“Right.” Shige isn’t exactly comfortable with the way his stomach sinks at the thought of Koyama leaving; the thought of losing this comforting, tender feeling coursing through him. It seems like it should be unnatural, to feel so dependent on someone else’s presence after just a day.

But it doesn’t feel that way. Shige thinks of the night before, the way he’d been strangely at ease at the sudden appearance of a mysterious man with wings; the way he’d been able to accept it so easily, without question, as though it were a normal occurrence. He thinks of waking up this morning to the disappointment of finding Koyama gone; the ache in his body at the thought that it was all just a dream, and the loneliness and distraction that had trailed after him all day. And then he thinks of the burst of relief he’d felt when he’d opened his door to find the angel there, waiting for him; the steady burn that settled in his chest when Koyama’s wings had fluttered happily at the sight of him.

It had felt like coming home, he realizes. A combination of every warm and fuzzy feeling he’s ever encountered in his life. He’s never felt so content before around someone else.

And that, more than anything, worries him.

* * *

When Koyama had said _all the time_ , it hadn’t occurred to Shige that he might mean it literally.

He does, of course, as Shige discovers very quickly. Koyama is suddenly _everywhere_ , always watching and pondering and occasionally asking questions. It doesn’t matter where Shige is or how miniscule whatever he’s doing may be. It’s almost like the angel is afraid to miss something; like if he turns away for a moment, Shige will suddenly have some profound revelation without him.

And, well. It’s _awkward_. It takes Shige a week to convince Koyama that _no, you can’t follow me into the bathroom_ , and another week after that to get him to stop staring at him while he sleeps because it’s _freaky_.

And that’s not even counting the number of times Shige has just flat out tripped over him because Koyama has pretty much superglued himself to Shige’s heels. Or the number of times the angel has driven Shige to a point well beyond distraction with those pretty, pretty wings that still make Shige’s fingers itch to touch them.

It’s not all bad, though. When Koyama’s not driving Shige to incoherence through exasperation or proving that ‘privacy’ and ‘personal space’ are exclusively human concepts, he’s actually a decent companion; amiable, relentlessly cheerful and optimistic, always willing to listen. And, most importantly, he actually seems to care. It’s been a while since Shige last had someone around who was interested in the things he had to say; someone who does more than just tease him mercilessly about anything and everything.

He loves his friends, of course, and he knows that they care about him too. But with Koyama, it’s different. Shige can’t exactly pinpoint _how_ , but he is, and it’s more than just his celestial origins.

But still. This is getting a little out of hand.

* * *

“This is very uncomfortable,” Koyama squirms a bit, tugs on the material of the shirt Shige has loaned him. It doesn’t fit him properly, but it will do until they can get him clothes that are more suited to him. Koyama is pouting, however, and if he twists around any farther, Shige thinks he might break something. Still, the look of honest consternation and mild frustration he wears is kind of adorable.

“Stop fidgeting or you’ll end up wearing it backwards. And that will be even _more_ uncomfortable.” Shige reaches out to swat Koyama’s hands away from the collar, straightening it out himself. Maybe a button down hadn’t been the best of choices for the angel’s first foray into human clothing, but somehow, Shige can’t see him in a T-shirt.

Koyama pouts. Shige has to resist the urge to grin. “Why do humans put themselves through this torture?” He whines, tugging at one sleeve unhappily, and Shige laughs.

“Because if we go around naked, we’ll get arrested for indecent exposure.”

“I wasn’t naked before.”

Shige considers the strange, almost luminescent outfit Koyama has been wearing the entire time, and thinks that he may as well be, given the amount of attention it would draw. Out loud, he says, “No, but angel attire is not exactly inconspicuous, either.”

Koyama does not look convinced. “If you weren’t so intent on making everyone else see me as well, that wouldn’t be a problem.”

Shige snorts. “People are starting to give me strange looks for talking to myself. I can only use the Blue Tooth excuse so many times before they start to think I’m insane.” Koyama still looks fairly put out, and Shige suddenly worries that maybe he’s crossed a line without intending to. Feeling a little more awkward now, he hesitates before adding, “If it bothers you that much, you don’t have to…”

But Koyama deflates quickly, shaking his head. “No, it’s alright.” He assures, but he still looks exceedingly displeased. When Shige gives him a pointed look, the angel frowns and looks almost ashamed. “It’s just…” He squirms a bit, and finally, “My wings. They don’t… _feel_ right like this.”

Shige peers around Koyama’s shoulder and wants to agree. It’s strange, seeing Koyama without his wings. Shige has grown used to them, in the same way that he’s grown used to Koyama’s ever-comforting presence, but now they’re no longer there, hidden away and invisible to not only the world, but Shige as well. It’s downright unsettling, and Shige misses them already.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, because that’s the first thing that comes to mind. He won’t make Koyama do this if it’s anything more than a minor inconvenience.

The angel frowns hard, like he actually has to think about it before answering. “…no,” he responds finally, honestly. “It’s just… strange. I’m not used to it.” If they were out, Shige is sure Koyama’s wings would be ruffled. But then, if they were out, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. “I don’t want to do this all the time.” Koyama adds, half-begging, half-demanding.

Shige chuckles, almost to himself. “When it’s just the two of us, you can keep them out.” He promises. Koyama sighs, deeply relieved.

“You don’t mind?” The angel asks anyway, just to be sure.

“Actually…” Shige can feel a certain warmth creeping up his neck, seeping into his cheeks, as he murmurs, somewhat shyly, “…I kind of like them.” And, as big of an understatement as that is, it’s still enough to make Koyama beam like it’s the best compliment he’s ever received. The sight of it sends a surge of affection straight down Shige’s spine.

He’s definitely going to miss the wings, even if it’s only when they’re out in public.

* * *

After that, the awkwardness ebbs away a bit. Koyama continues to follow Shige around wherever he goes, day in and day out, but Shige feels less self-conscious about it now that the angel is visible to everyone else. Less crazy, too. He introduces him as _Koyama, a friend from high school_ for lack of a better explanation, and somewhere along the line, the angel ends up getting adopted into his little circle of friends.

“Just Koyama?” Tegoshi asks curiously, expression set on ‘cutely innocent’. Shige is only mildly distressed that Koyama seems to be buying it; they’ll have to have a discussion about Tegoshi later.

“Um…”

“My first name is Keiichiro,” Koyama provides easily, and then looks sheepish when Shige turns to gape at him, because apparently this is something else that they’ll have to discuss later.

Tegoshi considers Koyama curiously, and Shige swears he sees a flash of _something_ in the younger man’s eyes, before he abruptly grins and wraps himself around Koyama like they’ve known each other for years. “I’ll call you Kei-chan, then,” he announces, looking pleased when Koyama doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate the hug.

And no, Shige is not jealous; not when Koyama ends up cooing at how adorable Tegoshi is, not when Tegoshi ends up taking up residence on Koyama’s lap, not when Ryo snickers at him and teases him about losing his boyfriend, and not when Massu gives him sympathetic eyes and offers to split his lunch with him. Even if Koyama is supposed to be _his_ angel, not Tegoshi’s. He’s not jealous. He’s _not_.

* * *

“Your friends are nice,” Koyama says later when they leave together, while Shige is still focused on how very _not_ jealous he is.

“Yeah, I guess.” Shige is not pouting, either. Just like he’s not jealous. Absolutely not.

Koyama frowns, and doesn’t say anything for a few moments as they walk around the school campus slowly, without a particular destination. Eventually, the tension becomes too much to bear, and he faces Shige with an expression that’s so sad and miserable that Shige feels like he’s just kicked a puppy. Multiple times.

“Are you angry with me?” Koyama asks, and it’s really not fair, the way he sounds so downtrodden, like he wouldn’t be able to bear it if Shige were.

“I…” Shige opens his mouth to refute that, but stops when he realizes that, yeah, he is a little upset. So instead, he sighs and slumps a bit, feeling rather defeated. “Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, I thought we were close enough that first names were… okay.” He hates the fact that he sounds so juvenile, and even more so when Koyama gives him a look that’s a cross between _you stupid human_ and _how could you think that_.

“Shige,” Koyama says, looking almost amused. “You’re the only human I’ve ever shown my wings to. I sort of figured that would speak more of how close we are than a name ever could.”

And if that doesn’t strike Shige speechless, nothing can. He spends a long moment just gaping at Koyama, uncertain of what he can say to that. In the end, he settles on a very impressive, “…oh.”

Koyama just smiles patiently, unbothered. “If you like,” he says casually as they start walking again. “You can call me ‘Kei-chan’ too.”

Shige feels himself blush, embarrassed now, and ducks his head. “…maybe just ‘Kei’,” He mumbles, and when Koyama offers no protest – just keeps smiling in that way that makes Shige’s stomach flutter in the most comfortable-uncomfortable way he’s ever felt – he figures it’s settled.

* * *

Time passes, and before Shige realizes it, they’ve crossed the sixth month mark and are starting in on the seventh. It’s strange for him to think that it’s already been so long since Koyama first showed up in his room, but at the same time, it feels shorter than it is; to Shige, it feels almost like it’s been this way forever.

He has trouble thinking of a time when it wasn’t like this, with Koyama following him around all day, keeping him company in the afternoons when he does his homework or meets with his friends for lunch, talking with him in low voices late at night when he can’t sleep. Koyama is always there, a constant and steady presence that Shige has grown so accustomed to that it feels _wrong_ to think of him not being there.

And that’s probably why it’s such a shock to him when, two and a half weeks into month seven, Koyama suddenly decides not to go with him to class.

“I’m just… not feeling very well,” The angel says quietly, shifting on the bed and looking rather distant. Shige frowns as worry gnaws at him, hesitating near the doorway. He really does need to get to class, but now he’s thinking about skipping it.

“Are you okay?” He questions. “Are you sick or something? Can angels even get sick?” The last one is aimed more at himself than Koyama. In the entire time he’s known the angel, he’s never seen him in anything but perfect condition; he hadn’t even thought it was possible for the angel to be anything less than chipper and happy.

Koyama gives him a soft smile, pleased that Shige is worried for him, and waves him off. “I’m fine,” he assures. “I just have some things I need to think about.”

Shige frowns, not entirely sure if he believes that. But Koyama seems set on it, and the angel has never given him any reason not to trust him. So he sighs, nods his acquiescence, and turns to leave. “You remember how to use the phone, right? And you have my number?” If anything, Koyama’s smile just brightens, and Shige blushes lightly and looks away. “Just… call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” Koyama promises.

Shige gives him one last look and finally forces himself to leave.

* * *

To Shige’s immense relief, Koyama is still there when he gets back from class, and the next morning when he wakes up. But that’s about all he has to be relieved about, because over the next week, the angel’s behavior alters radically, and Shige is left floundering, uncertain of what to do.

He’s grown used to a bright, enthusiastic Koyama; one who talks too much and always stops to pet kittens on the street and feeds pieces of Shige’s lunch to the turtles living in the campus pond. But now, the angel is quiet, withdrawn, almost _sullen_ , and Shige has no idea how to handle it. Koyama begins staying home more often than he goes out with Shige, sitting on Shige’s bed without moving for long hours. He stops asking about things, the delighted curiosity from before fading rapidly, and, most of all, his wings begin to droop, like a physical manifestation of whatever depression he’s feeling.

Shige watches it all with a distinct sense of helplessness, and hates more than anything that there seems to be nothing he can do.

One day, about two weeks after it starts, he gets his chance. He comes home from class that afternoon to find a large ball of feathers taking up residence on his bed in the spot that Koyama is usually in. It takes him a moment to realize that the ball _is_ Koyama; the angel is curled in on himself, wings wrapped protectively around himself, and if Shige looks closely, he can see him trembling, very slightly.

Shige can’t bring himself to turn away from that. He still has no idea what to say, but he can’t stand to see Koyama like this; not when it makes his heart clench painfully in his chest.

“Kei?” He calls softly, and the wings stiffen for just a moment. It makes Shige smile, albeit softly, and he heads over to squeeze in beside Koyama on the bed. From here, he can see through the feathered-barrier the angel has set up through a small gap where the two appendages don’t quite overlap properly. Koyama looks unhappy; moreso than he has all week. The sight of it makes Shige want to reach out and touch him; offer some kind of comfort.

But that would involve touching those wings, and Shige’s still not sure if that’s okay.

Instead, he sits as close as he can and tries to make eye contact; Koyama doesn’t make it easy for him. “Kei,” Shige says again, coaxingly. “Come out from there. Please?”

There’s a long hesitation on Koyama’s part, and for a moment, Shige wonders if he even heard. But finally, the wings retreat slowly; they don’t fold back completely, but they do pull away enough that Shige can see the angel properly; enough that he can scoot closer and press his leg against Koyama’s and lay a hand on his knee comfortingly. The angel doesn’t say anything, but Shige can feel him relax under his touch, just a bit.

“Talk to me?” Shige requests gently, leaning forward to try and get a better look at Koyama’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Koyama nibbles on his lower lip, a nervous habit he’s picked up in the time he’s spent with Shige, like he’s not sure if he should reply or not. Shige waits patiently; doesn’t push, even if he wants to. Finally, Koyama murmurs, almost too soft for Shige to hear, “…I think I’m experiencing what you call ‘homesickness’.”

Of all the things Shige has been considering as a cause, that’s probably the last one on the list. His initial reaction is to laugh, because it’s so simple and minor and he’d been _worried_ , but he doesn’t, because the words stir up a reminder of something he’d almost forgotten; something that doesn’t sit very well with him.

“You can’t go home,” he says aloud, almost to himself, and beside him, he feels Koyama go stiff. Now aimed at the angel, he continues, “Before, you said that. That you couldn’t go home until you’d…” he pauses, tries to remember the exact phrase.

“…finished this assignment,” Koyama offers quietly. “That’s right.”

It feels a little bit like a sucker punch to the stomach. Shige hadn’t actually paid much attention to that part the first time around, and now he feels like a selfish bastard. He hasn’t actually been taking this very seriously, these last few months. He knows it, and he knows why.

He doesn’t want Koyama to leave. The thought of it makes him feel so miserable that he wants to find a hole somewhere to crawl into. Koyama prompts feelings of safety and security and _happiness_ in him that he’s never felt before, and the idea of losing those feelings is almost physically painful. Maybe it’s his angelic nature, or maybe it’s just Koyama, but it’s been that way since the very beginning, and Shige knows that some part of himself has been purposefully trying to keep Koyama from making progress because of it. As childish a perspective as it may be, some piece of him had thought that, if the angel never completed his work, he’d never need to leave.

It hadn’t occurred to him before now that the consequences of that might be more far-reaching than he initially thought. It had never occurred to him that Koyama might actually _want_ to go home.

He’s not sure which thought hurts more; that Koyama will eventually have to go, or that he might actually want to leave.

But it doesn’t matter now, he supposes. The guilt hurts the most; realizing that it’s partially his fault that Koyama feels so unhappy is almost crushing. He loves Koyama, he knows. He’s not really sure how deep those feelings go, but he does know that it’s love of some form or another. Shige doesn’t want Koyama to hurt because of him. Not ever.

And if that means making some sacrifices on his part… well, he can do that.

“So,” he says quietly, swallowing down the urge to cut himself off here in a panic. It needs to be done, or else Koyama will never brighten up again, and Shige doesn’t think he could live with himself if that happened. “Have you made any progress, then?”

Koyama frowns and picks lightly at a fraying thread on Shige’s blanket. He looks like he doesn’t want to answer. His wings have unfolded completely, now, but instead of settling in by his sides like they usually do, one has extended out to hover around Shige’s shoulders as well, not touching him, but shielding him from the rest of the world nonetheless. The warmth this provokes in him is distracting, and for a moment, all Shige can think about is how badly he just wants to reach out and run his fingers through those feathers.

“I’m not sure,” Koyama says suddenly, snapping Shige’s attention back to the conversation.

“What do you mean?”

Another frown, this one deeper and more thoughtful. “Your soul has quieted down significantly since I first arrived,” Koyama explains, like it’s supposed to make sense. “I suppose that _is_ a form of progress, but I’m not sure how it happened.”

Shige’s brow knits together, confused. “Wait. My soul?” He echoes. “I don’t understand.”

“It was practically screaming when I first got here,” Koyama tells him distractedly; he hasn’t yet caught onto Shige’s lack of understanding, apparently. “Whatever it is you prayed for, you must want it very badly.”

“But I told you,” Shige protests. “I don’t want anything.” Nothing that he’s willing to admit to, anyway.

Koyama peers at him finally, meets his eyes and regards him seriously. “Shige,” he says, “humans pray all the time. For everything, big or small. There’s always someone in the world who wants divine intervention.” Shige nods, because that makes a lot of sense. “We almost never respond to them. My siblings and I, I mean. But…” The angel hesitates, like he’s trying to figure out how to phrase it, “…but sometimes, very rarely, someone will want something so badly that… a piece of their soul will end up attached to their prayer.” The look Koyama levels at him is intense and powerful, almost frighteningly so. “ _Those_ are the ones we answer, Shige. The ones that want it so much that they’re willing to give up a piece of themselves to have it.”

Shige swallows thickly, not because of the words, but because of the way Koyama says them. Somehow, he doesn’t think he could ever fully comprehend just what, exactly, the angel means by that. “And you think that I’m one of those?”

“I _know_ you are,” Koyama responds heatedly, with more force than Shige has ever heard from him before. “I held it in my hands, Shige. I felt it; the want and need. It was so _strong_. Whatever it is that you asked for, you want it very badly. Whether you realize that or not.” Shige isn’t really sure how to reply to that, but Koyama doesn’t seem to expect to, because he adds a moment later, “I don’t understand, though. That want has eased since I first got here, but I can’t figure out how or why.”

It hits all at once then, and Shige feels his stomach drop out as he finally starts to understand. “Since you first got here.” He repeats softly, heart turning over in his chest.

Koyama nods, still frowning. “Yes.”

Shige isn’t sure if he should laugh or cry, at this point; both seem like appropriate enough reactions, but neither seem to fit. So instead, he does the next best thing: drops his head into his hands and moans lightly to himself. “ _Great_.”

He’s almost positive that there isn’t any way that this could possibly get worse.

* * *

It can, of course, as Shige discovers two days later. Koyama is more like himself now, no longer spending every hour moping, but the time apart seems to have proven to him that he can remain close to Shige without having to be by his side at every moment. He’s not distant anymore, but he does seem to have found some kind of grasp on the idea of boundaries.

Shige is both saddened and relieved by this. On the one hand, he knows he’ll miss the constant company now that Koyama doesn’t seem to mind being left to his own devices. On the other hand, he has a feeling that if Koyama _were_ to go back to being by his side at every hour of every day, he’d start to have a serious problem with his self-control.

And anyway, he’s pretty certain he doesn’t want Koyama around for the conversation he’s about to have (because he has to be sure before he says anything; he _has_ to know).

* * *

Tracking down Tegoshi on the weekend is a task on par with lifting the Eiffel Tower or getting Ryo to stop snarking and bitching at everyone in sight; that is, nearly impossible. The younger man never answers his damn cellphone and generally never bothers to tell anyone about where he’s planning on being. (Not that Tegoshi ever plans his little escapades in advance; he just goes with the flow and ends up finding himself in high end nightclubs for free. Which just makes it even _harder_ to find him.)

But Shige is nothing if not intelligent, so he does the next best thing: he tracks down Massu instead. Mid-afternoon on a Saturday almost guarantees that the two of them will be together, doing whatever it is cute-to-the-point-of-creepiness best friends do.

As it turns out, this weekend’s activity involves Massu teaching a Spring fitness camp for children in a local park, with Tegoshi sitting at a picnic table with his laptop, waiting for him to finish. (Shige assumes he’s doing homework, but really, he could be looking at porn for all he knows.) Shige makes a mental note to thank Masuda-mama for being so helpful, and then takes a seat beside the younger man, who doesn’t look surprised to see him at all.

“Kei-chan called and said you were looking for me,” Tegoshi offers when Shige looks at him expectantly.

“And you actually answered?” Well, if Shige has ever doubted that Koyama is really an angel, he doesn’t anymore. That little miracle proves it well enough. In the background, Massu leads his kids through a game of some kind; judging by the shrieking laughter, they’re all having a good time.

“Kei-chan is special,” Tegoshi responds with a shrug. Shige nearly snorts.

“Tell me about it,” he agrees, and Tegoshi grins. Shige wonders to himself about just how close Tegoshi and Koyama have gotten, but decides against asking. Tegoshi will just avoid answering him for the sake of teasing him, mischievous little twit that he is. Instead, he decides to just get down to business; if he puts it off, it’ll just keep driving him crazy, after all. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Depends on the something,” is Tegoshi’s distracted reply. Shige glances over in time to catch him digging through his backpack. He comes back up with a bag of lollipops, selects a cherry one and then offers the bag to Shige. “For the kids,” he explains when Shige merely raises an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose of a fitness camp?”

“It was Massu’s idea,” Tegoshi offers with a shrug, replacing the bag and unwrapping his candy. “So,” he says around the treat, “what was it you wanted to talk about?”

“I…” Shige hesitates, wonders for just a moment if maybe this wasn’t a bad idea, but he pushes back that feeling. “I need your opinion on something.” Tegoshi gives him a _look_ and he has to resist the urge to squirm where he sits; he hasn’t felt this exposed or vulnerable in a long time. “Your expertise on human behavior, I mean.”

Tegoshi preens at the compliment. “Alright. But I might charge you for it,” he says cheekily.

“You’re not licensed _yet_ ,” Shige grumbles, but fondly. Tegoshi gives him an unashamed grin, and Shige can’t quite stop a smile of his own. It’s hard to remember, sometimes, that they’ve been friends for as long as they have, given how often they tease and torment each other. Times like these always help remind him, though.

“Maybe,” Tegoshi says. “But if I asked, I bet you’d pay me anyway.” He’s probably right, Shige knows. “So, what do you need a psychologist’s opinion on?”

“A hypothetical situation,” is Shige’s immediate answer. He’d spent a good hour earlier in the day debating with himself over how to broach the topic. Telling the truth is absolutely out of the question, but there’s no reason he can’t modify it a bit.

“Okay…”

“Angels are real.” Shige nearly laughs at the look Tegoshi gives him, disbelief and maybe a bit of worry clearly present on his face.

“Angels are—”

“ _Hypothetically_ ,” Shige stresses.

The look Tegoshi gives him suggests the younger doesn’t know quite to make of this, but he nods anyway, slowly. “Okay. Angels are real.” A pause. “Why are angels real, Shige?”

“It’s… for a book I’m writing,” It sounds significantly more lame out loud than it did in Shige’s head, but he can’t take it back now. He wishes he could, though, if the look of skepticism he gets from Tegoshi is anything to go on.

“You never seemed like the type for writing fiction.”

“Yeah, well. I figured I should give it a try.” That sounds even worse. “Are you going to help me or what?”

Tegoshi shrugs. “Go ahead.”

And Shige does. He leaves out a lot, skips over some parts, but the basics are all there; Koyama’s sudden appearance, the prayer, not knowing what the prayer was for, Shige being unaware of the praying in the first place. All the important bits. When he’s done, Tegoshi stares at him like he’s lost his mind. Shige tries to ignore it. “So, basically… I need your help to figure out what it is that the… main character… wants.”

“For your book.” Tegoshi repeats slowly, and Shige nods. “That you’re writing.” Another nod. “About angels.”

“If you’re not going to take this seriously—”

“Wait, wait.” Before Shige can stand, Tegoshi curls a hand in his shirt and tugs him back impatiently. “Don’t be so sensitive, geez. You just never struck me as the imaginative type, that’s all.” Shige glares him, but Tegoshi doesn’t even seem to realize he’s just insulted the older man. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. “You want my help, right?”

“ _Yes_ ,”

“Well, okay then.” Tegoshi’s lollipop is well and truly gone by now, so he reaches down to pull out another. “You said your character asked for whatever it is they want subconsciously, right?” Shige mumbles something in the affirmative, and Tegoshi hums thoughtfully. “Well, then, chances are this desire of theirs is emotional, not physical. Something they’re lacking in their life, and can’t get by themselves.” Tegoshi shrugs casually. “It’s probably love.”

Shige chokes on thin air. “ _Love_?”

“Well, yeah.” Tegoshi sucks on his candy for a moment before pulling it away and continuing. “I mean, most emotional needs we can provide for ourselves; we can make ourselves happy or sad or whatever. Sometimes we need external stimulus for it, but it’s all us inside. But the need to feel loved and cared for?” He shakes his head. “Not even the best narcissists can have that without someone else.” He peers at Shige, who doesn’t feel particularly inclined to meet his eyes. “Your character, does he have someone? A girlfriend, maybe?”

Shige frowns. “No.” Not since his Freshman year in high school, when he’d started buckling down and studying properly.

“What about his friends? Anyone he’s particularly close to?”

“No.” If there’s a slight edge to Shige’s voice, Tegoshi either chooses to ignore it or doesn’t notice.

“Well, there you go.” Tegoshi reaches out to pat his shoulder. “Your main character is _lonely_ , Shige. He wants a friend. Or, you know, a lover. Someone that cares.” By now, Massu’s camp seems to have wound down. The kids are scattering, breaking out into little groups for what can only be a recess. Massu is making his way over, and Tegoshi waves at him with a smile. “Does that help?”

It doesn’t, not in the least. But Shige returns the smile shakily and says, anyway, “Yeah.”

* * *

It’s hard for Shige to face Koyama after that. It’s one thing to suspect that your feelings for the angel that came down from Heaven to help you figure out what it is you’re missing in life go a little bit beyond ‘friendly’; it’s not even so bad to admit it to yourself. But to have someone else confirm it? Well, that apparently makes it a bit more awkward.

He doesn’t know how to handle this. He doesn’t know how to handle _Koyama_. Not right now, when all he can think about is the way Koyama never holds back when he smiles at Shige, so bright and innocent; how he laughs at Shige’s lame jokes like they’re the funniest thing he’s ever heard; the way he’s always leaning into Shige’s personal space. The way he looks every morning when Shige wakes up – that bright, too happy _Good morning_ that always accompanies that look. The way that he’s managed to make Shige fall so thoroughly and completely in love with him that he can’t even _think_ straight…

He knows what he wants now; what it was that he prayed for. Tegoshi was right, in the general sense; he _does_ want someone that cares. But not just anyone. He wants Koyama, and he knows that no one else will fill the role once the angel is gone. And therein lies the problem. Shige knows that if he tells the angel about this – his feelings and needs and how badly he wants the angel to stay forever – Koyama won’t go. He won’t want to leave Shige alone, because he’s too damn _nice_ and caring and all of the other things that Shige loves about him.

So he’ll stay, and he’ll be miserable; he’ll miss Heaven and his siblings and want to go home, but he’ll stay anyway, because it’s his nature to put others before himself. It’s what makes him Koyama.

And Shige doesn’t want that. As badly as he wants Koyama to stay with him always, he doesn’t want to see him the way he was before; so distant and unhappy that he couldn’t even bring himself to move, withdrawn and broken in ways that make Shige’s heart ache just thinking about it.

He can’t let that happen.

* * *

For the next week, Shige is distracted and unfocused, too lost in his thoughts and wallowing to really pay attention anything else. He barely manages to keep up in class, and with his friends, he barely talks at all. With Koyama, it’s even worse; he’s never before felt uncomfortable in the angel’s presence, and he finds very quickly that he doesn’t like it at all. But there’s little he can do about it, because every time they’re together, Shige’s thoughts get jumbled and confused and all he can really make out of them is a strange sense of guilt and misery and the image of Koyama curled up on his bed with his wings hiding him from the world.

It’s probably the single most miserable week of his life, all things considered.

To his credit, Koyama doesn’t pry. He seems to sense that Shige needs time to work this out, and does his best not to hover, although it’s clearly a struggle for him. He’s good about it, though, willing to sit beside Shige for long periods of time in awkward silence, giving him space when he asks for it. He doesn’t comment on the strange things he hears the student mumble under his breath occasionally, nor does he push Shige for answers that he’s not ready to give.

By the time the second week passes, however, the angel starts to get antsy. He’s worried, Shige knows, and he feels guilty about that, but a part of him is terrified of opening his mouth at this point, afraid he’ll let something slip and ruin everything. He doesn’t know what to do, not with himself or the situation or Koyama, and it’s all starting to drive him crazy, a little bit.

By the middle of week three, Koyama has had enough. He corners Shige the instant he gets home from class, quite literally backs him into a wall until he can’t escape, and gives him the most heart-wrenchingly concerned look Shige has ever been on the receiving end of.

“Shige,” The angel says softly, fingers closing over the man’s shoulders and squeezing. It’s kind of alarming that the only thing Shige can really think of, beyond the panic of _oh God oh God oh God what do I do_ , is that it’s really hard to ignore his impulses with Koyama standing so damn close . “Will you please tell me what’s wrong?”

Straight to the point and very unlike him; Shige suddenly realizes that maybe Koyama is more upset then he realized. “I don’t…” He starts, and shakes himself, “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re _not_ ,” Koyama’s eyes flash for a moment, and Shige sees something there that he’s never seen before; a sort of possessiveness that doesn’t surprise him nearly as much as it probably should have.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Koyama’s fingers tighten against Shige’s skin so much that it starts to hurt, and for the first time, Shige sees a spark of something _truly_ alien there; an otherworldly strength that suddenly makes him realize that this creature could snap him in half like a twig if he really wanted to. It should be frightening, this knowledge, but instead, all it does is draw Shige closer, because it’s Koyama, and Shige trusts him implicitly.

“I’m talking about you, and the way your soul has been uneasy and in pain for the last few weeks.” Shige is tense where he stands, stiffly trapped between the angel and the wall behind him, and Koyama abruptly softens, his grip loosening. One hand comes up to touch his cheek, just barely, and Shige swears he feels something else brush the skin there; something softer and lighter than air. “You’re hurting,” Koyama says softly, and Shige knows he’s not talking about anything physical. “If you tell me what’s wrong, I can fix it. Please, Shige.”

And Shige doesn’t really know what to say to that. Koyama sounds like he’s half-pleading; like Shige being so unhappy hurts him too. “Why do you care so much?” He hears himself ask, barely a whisper, and they’re so close now that they’re noses are nearly touching.

Koyama looks almost hurt by the question. “Because it’s _you_ ,” he answers, like it’s obvious; like he doesn’t understand how Shige couldn’t know that.

He’s still touching Shige’s cheek, only now he’s cupping it gently, his thumb stroking the skin there in slow, soothing motions. Shige feels like he can’t breathe, suddenly, like the entire world has suddenly stopped moving and all that’s left is him and Koyama and the tiny space between them.

He can’t stop himself from closing that gap, and all it takes it an instant before their lips meet and then it’s like a dam has broken inside of him. He can’t stop once he’s started, and Koyama doesn’t even pause or stiffen or do anything but pull him closer and practically devour his mouth, like he’s done this before. Except he hasn’t; Shige knows he hasn’t, because in that moment, he knows _everything_ , and he sees Koyama in his mind, the way he’s supposed to be, bright and vibrant and not-human and _perfect_.

It feels like it lasts forever, that kiss, but Shige doesn’t care, because it feels more right than anything he’s ever done before. And when he pulls away – because he has to breathe, even if he’d rather suffocate than let go of that feeling – he’s shaking from the intensity of it all.

“Kei,” he murmurs weakly, because it’s all he can muster. Koyama stares at him long and hard, and Shige can see a conflict in those eyes; a fight of instincts that he’s certain he could never understand. He can read the insecurity and uncertainty and fear in the angel’s expression, and all at once, he knows what’s about to happen before Koyama even pulls away. “Kei, wait—”

“I have to go.” Koyama cuts him off, and for a split second, Shige sees him waver, like he doesn’t know what to do. And then he’s gone, vanishing where he stands, leaving behind nothing but a few feathers and a whispered, “I’m sorry,” that breaks Shige’s heart.

* * *

It was a cowardly thing to do, running away like that. Koyama knows this, and he feels horrible about it, but there’s no taking it back now. Angels are not immune to guilt, he now knows, nor are they exempt from heart ache. Koyama is feeling both at the moment, and he can’t help but feel like he deserves it.

He’s sitting at the edge of Heaven, some far off corner where he can be alone to peek down at Earth and watch Shige from a distance. Shige, who is hurting more now than he ever has before in his life, all because of Koyama.

Time is a funny thing in Heaven; it works differently than it does on Earth, not because there’s a difference in how fast it moves, but because in Heaven, the ones perceiving it have a very skewed view of it. On Earth, it’s so easy to get swept up in the singular events and lives that it seems to stretch on forever. But in Heaven, where time is little more than a vague concept used to define other creatures’ lives, it’s almost impossible to grasp properly.

This concept is not one that Koyama has really considered before, but now, it frightens him to his very core. What feels like just a moment to him is enough for several days to slip away on Earth, and he’s terrified that if he pries his eyes away from Shige for even an instant, he’ll turn back to find that the man has winked out of existence completely, his cycle come and gone in the blink of an eye.

He came up here to think – to try and sort through the bizarre, foreign emotions weighing so heavily on him that he feels like he might collapse under it all – but instead, all he finds himself doing is sitting here and watching as days melt into weeks and weeks into months for his human. ( _His_ human. Koyama wonders when Shige became that to him; when his initial feelings of fascinated curiosity towards the student shifted to something far more personal. He doesn’t have an answer for himself.)

Shige doesn’t handle it well. Koyama watches as he falls apart for days afterwards, bouncing from violent anger to soul-shattering sorrow in rapid fire spurts. He cries sometimes, late at night when the feeling of _wrong, incomplete, empty_ gets so unbearable that he can’t stand it anymore. Koyama knows how much it hurts, because he feels it too, a stabbing ache that digs deep into his very essence and screams for relief and comfort and _Shige_.

It feels a little bit like his soul is splitting in half; it is, without a doubt, the most painful thing Koyama has ever experienced in his time. And that’s partially why he’s here, now; in Heaven, there is no pain, no death or hurt or unhappiness. Just a steady sense of peace and ease, something Koyama has spent his life wrapped in. Something he now wants nothing more than to wash over him and block out everything else; to make him forget.

But he can’t forget now; not when a piece of himself feels like it’s missing. He’s not made for this – angels aren’t supposed to feel, not like this – but he _is_ , and it’s the worst sort of conflict he’s ever faced.

He senses it more than he hears it when another presence joins him. Koyama wants to turn to look, but he doesn’t dare drag his eyes away from Shige, who’s in class right now, but isn’t focusing, is just doodling pictures of wings on his course outline absently; he knows instinctively that the student’s thoughts are on him. He can feel the sharp tug on his soul that tells him so.

“Hello, Yamashita,” He says tiredly, following the movement of his human’s pen with rapt attention. He doesn’t need to see his brother to know who it is; Yamashita’s presence is a strong one, almost overpoweringly so. He was born to be a leader, a soldier, and his aura reflects that.

“Yo,” Yamashita greets in turn, settling in beside him. Yamashita stays quiet for a long while, watching Shige with Koyama, impassive and nonjudgmental, and Koyama is grateful for it.

Of all his siblings, Yamashita is probably his favorite. They’ve always shared a strange sort of mutual fondness for one another, something that many of their brothers and sisters don’t quite understand. It’s not something that either of them feel inclined to try and explain, and although they aren’t technically supposed to have preferences for one another, the others let them get away with it because Yamashita is one of the golden children and Koyama is _Koyama_ , the awkward older brother who waited an unheard of three millennia before receiving his first assignment.

They’re friends as well as siblings, and Koyama is inwardly pleased that it’s Yamashita that approached him first.

He feels something brush against him, then, tentative and shy, asking for permission. It feels foreign to him, like something out of a dream, but so familiar that he trembles from it just a bit. Yamashita’s wings are warm and soft and gold in color, and they fold over Koyama’s shoulders delicately, offering silent comfort and support that he appreciates more than anything else.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yamashita asks carefully.

Koyama doesn’t, but Yamashita is notoriously bad at taking hints, and saying ‘no’ flat to his face seems a little too rude. So instead, he shrugs helplessly and feels the wings around him flutter in light concern. It’s such a simple motion, but somehow, it makes Koyama feel closer to home than he’s been in months.

On Earth, Shige meets with his friends for lunch. He smiles at them all in turn, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I…” Koyama says shakily. Only it’s not his voice that’s shaking – it’s _him_. “…I don’t know what to do, Pi-chan,” The nickname surprises him even as it slips passed his lips. He hasn’t used it in ages; not since Yamashita was just a fledgling, before he received his title as seraph.

Yamashita doesn’t look bothered by it, although Koyama thinks he sees him blush just a bit. “Your assignment giving you trouble?” In a sense, this is true, so Koyama nods. “Still can’t figure out what he wants?”

“No. I know what he prayed for.” _That_ is no longer a problem. Koyama had suspected something, but the kiss had confirmed it. He’d felt it at that instant, the loneliness and longing inside his human, the way those feelings had ebbed away in the course of their confrontation. That moment had sparked a connection of some kind, a two-way flow that had Koyama constantly aware of Shige in ways he hadn’t known of before, and even now, he can feel it, not quite tangible but definitely there.

He hasn’t the slightest idea of how to explain this to Yamashita, though. He’s not even sure if there are words for it in any language. It just… is.

“Then what’s wrong?” Yamashita’s tone is neutral, but coaxing. The same tone he uses with the fledglings when he wants them to do something on their own without guidance. Koyama is too distracted by the sight of Shige returning home to an empty dorm room to be offended.

He opens his mouth to respond, but stops when he sees Shige’s expression; heartbroken and lost. He feels the disappointment that radiates off of the student, and then the self-loathing and anger soon after. Koyama’s chest aches painfully. “I don’t think I was supposed to get this assignment, Pi,” He hears himself say numbly. “I think it was a mistake.”

He doesn’t see the look that Yamashita gives him for that, but he can feel the heat of the glare bearing into him. The wing around his back goes stiff.

“Koyama,” Yamashita says, his tone low, dark; dangerous. A warning, then. “That’s blasphemy.”

Koyama nods, not denying it. “I know.” He agrees, and acknowledging it makes his stomach drop and clench, his head swim. He feels like he’s just done something terrible; another first. “But I just… Pi, I _can’t_.” Maybe it’s the desperate sound of his voice, or maybe it’s just Yamashita feeling sorry for him, but the wings around him curl protectively closer, and everything about the seraph suddenly feels gentler. “I just… I don’t understand. Why me? Why did it come to me?”

Shige is turning in for the night, tugging his blankets up until they touch his ears. But Koyama can tell that he won’t be getting much sleep tonight, and the need to reach out and fix that, to soothe away Shige’s worries until he dreams easy and light, is startlingly strong. He doesn’t realize that he’s reaching out for it until his hand closes over nothing.

For the first time since he arrived back in Heaven, Koyama pulls his eyes away from Shige, closes them slowly and feels something wet trail down his cheek.

Yamashita sighs softly and lets the older angel curl up against him. He remembers a time, thousands of years ago, when Koyama had done the very same for him on many occasions. The role reversal feels strange, but not uncomfortably so.

“Kei,” he murmurs, tightening his grip just a bit. “You know as well as anyone that these things aren’t random. You were given this assignment for a reason. And I think, if you stopped panicking and thought about it for just a minute, you might realize what that reason is.” It the closest Yamashita can get to calling him an idiot without actually saying it, and Koyama smiles despite himself. “Did it ever occur to you that this prayer might have been just as much for you as it was for this Kato person?”

Koyama opens his mouth to respond, starts to say something in his defense, but stops abruptly as the words sink in. And then he snaps his mouth shut, because suddenly everything _fits_.

“…it’s fate,” He says faintly, and Yamashita smirks at him knowingly.

“There you go.”

“I have to go.” Koyama pulls himself away, untangles his wings from the seraph’s and makes to leave, but stops suddenly as something occurs to him. He hesitates, peers back at Yamashita, who is looking at him in a way that’s almost proud. “I… won’t be coming back, will I?”

“Not for a while,” Yamashita nods. “Not until you finish your work.”

Koyama nods, understanding what he means. With a flutter of his wings, he’s gone.

* * *

It takes Shige almost, but not quite, four months before he finally starts to feel like himself again. And those months are absolute agony for him. It’s a struggle, picking up the pieces and trying to figure out how to move on. Half the time, he isn’t even sure if it’s worth it.

But he manages; holds his life together when he feels like he’s lost at sea and barely floating, even if the effort is only half-hearted. He attends his classes, but doesn’t pay attention. He sees his friends, but hardly ever actually interacts with them. Tegoshi thinks he’s depressed, and Massu, naturally, has adopted his theory. Ryo doesn’t even pick on him anymore; just sends him surreptitious worried looks when he thinks no one is looking. It makes Shige feel guilty, having them fret over him like this, but he’s grateful for it, too; he doesn’t want to think about the place he’d be in if it weren’t for them.

He hates feeling this way, and he hates himself for letting it get to this point. He’s not the type for lovesickness; certainly not the sort to wallow in his misery over something as stupid a broken heart.

Except it’s more than that, and he knows it. He’s felt heartbreak before, and this goes well beyond it. It feels like a piece of himself is gone; like there’s some kind of hole inside of him that Koyama tore out when he left. But no, that’s not right either. Rather, it’s like he’s always been incomplete, and just hadn’t ever realized it until the angel came into the picture and fixed him. And now he’s back to where he was before, only this time, he _knows_ that he isn’t right, and there’s nothing he can do. He’s in pain almost constantly, not a physical kind but something deeper, and he wonders if this is what Koyama had meant by his soul being hurt.

Mostly, he’s just angry. Angry at himself, for the most part; for ruining everything, for not turning the angel away that first night. For letting himself fall in love. Sometimes he’s angry at Koyama, but he can never really hold onto that for long. The self-loathing is far more satisfying, and anyway, he can’t blame Koyama. He just can’t.

He’s finally starting to get better, though. Shige doesn’t think he’ll ever fully move on, but he can come to terms with it and let it go.

That’s what Tegoshi says, anyway. It’s not bad advice, Shige supposes, given that the psychology student doesn’t really have any idea about what happened beyond the fact that Koyama is gone and Shige is unhappy now. But still, it’s so much easier to say it than it is to actually do it.

So, so much harder.

* * *

Shige is in the middle of doing his homework when he hears it, a soft flapping sound that’s familiar and almost nostalgic to him. He feels the air suddenly grow heavier, charged with something not-quite-natural, and in his chest, his heart flutters uncomfortably fast.

He doesn’t need to turn around to know who’s standing there behind him, but he feels the compulsion to look anyway.

Koyama looks no different than he did months earlier, when he slipped away from Shige’s grasp and disappeared from his life completely, but looking at him, Shige can pick up tiny traces of his story. His face and expression look the same as they always used to, but his eyes hold a certain heaviness that the human is unused to. He stands tall, but his shoulders are tense. His wings look as impressive as ever, but they’re unkempt and have lost some of their luster.

The angel looks _tired_ , and Shige can’t help the spark of worry this stirs in him at the sight.

“I… Kei—” It slips out before Shige can stop it, and he snaps his mouth shut the instant it does, shame bubbling up within him at just how needy it sounds.

Koyama’s eyes snap down to him, like he’s just now noticing Shige for the first time, and the change is downright startling. His entire posture relaxes, his wings unfurl themselves and twitch outwards in a motion that’s almost welcoming, his eyes brighten, and everything about him suddenly seems to _glow_. It’s an intense reaction; one that Shige has no idea how to interpret as anything but sheer, unadulterated happiness.

“Hello, Shige,” the angel says, and Shige can’t help but remember their first meeting. “I’m glad to see you,”

Shige swallows down his knee-jerk reaction, which is the odd combination of wanting to both hug Koyama and break his nose at the same time, and forces himself to remain where he sits. “What…” he begins, and then swallows as his voice cracks dangerously. “What are you doing here?”

Koyama’s eyes flicker with something. Hurt, maybe. “I wanted to see you.”

“Why?” It’s blunt and sharp at the same time, half an accusation. Koyama flinches visibly at the sound of it, his wings curling around himself protectively, but Shige can’t bring himself to feel guilty over it.

“Are you really that angry with me?” Koyama asks, instead of answering properly. Shige feels a spark of irritation at the evasion, and then a flare of anger as the words sink in. Without realizing it, he’s standing up, so fast his chair topples to the side, and he thinks that this might be what people mean when they say they saw red, because at this moment, he thinks he kind of does.

“Why the hell _wouldn’t_ I be?” Shige demands heatedly, practically snarling. “You _ran away_ , Kei. I needed you, and you _left_.”

Koyama winces, but doesn’t turn away, nor does he retreat in anyway. Instead, all he does is whisper, so quietly Shige almost doesn’t hear him, “I know.” And that sort of takes the wind right out of Shige; the anger remains but suddenly he feels like he can’t let it out, now; not seeing how helpless the angel looks, crestfallen and downtrodden with his wings drooping so far down that they’re trailing on the floor.

It’s not fair, really, but Shige feels the urge to yell and shout seep out of him, and suddenly, all he feels is tired. “You know.” He echoes numbly.

Koyama sighs heavily. “Shige, I…” He stops, and then a moment later shakes his head, like he’s discarding whatever it was he was going to say before. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… know what to do.” Shige remains silent, lips pressed in a thin line, making it clear that it isn’t enough; not yet. Koyama looks hesitant, like he doesn’t want to go further, but Shige refuses to let it go so easily. “Shige, I’ve never… I’ve never felt like that before. I’m not even supposed to be _able_ to feel like that. It was… overwhelming.”

That’s an understatement. Shige can still remember how it felt, that kiss; how intense it had been, how shaken he’d felt afterwards. For an instant there, he’d felt _everything_ , absolutely everything, and the memory of it is still enough to make him feel lightheaded.

“Never?” He repeats, skepticism evident. “So this isn’t something you do with all of your charges.” It’s not a fair thing to say, he knows – even if Koyama _is_ a coward, he’s not the type that would just play with someone’s emotions like that. But some small, petty part of him wants to make Koyama uncomfortable; to make him squirm and feel at least a little of what Shige himself has been suffering.

It works, to a degree. Koyama’s feathers abruptly ruffle themselves, and the angel looks honestly insulted. Instead of the indigence that Shige is expecting, however, he merely says, levelly, “You’re the only charge I’ve ever had, Shige.” And then, after a moment, he adds, “And the only one I ever will.”

And, well. Shige certainly isn’t expecting _that_. “What?”

Koyama looks uncomfortable suddenly, and he fidgets as he tries to figure out how to explain himself. He looks like he doesn’t even know where to start. Finally, he says, sounding a little bit unsure, “I’m… old, Shige; older than your entire species. But I’ve never received a prayer, not in the entire time I’ve been alive. Not until yours.” He’s not looking at Shige anymore, but rather past him as he speaks. “And I couldn’t figure it out, before. Why, after all this time, it was yours that found me. Why it was that the first soul I was sent to help was one that I wouldn’t be able to resist.” He smiles suddenly, breathes out half a laugh. “I get it now, though. I understand. I was the only one that _could_ have received it.”

Somehow, during the course of this, Koyama has moved closer without Shige even noticing. He’s standing in front of him now, the distance between them barely enough to be considered socially acceptable. He looks like he wants to reach out; like he wants to touch.

Shige feels his heart speed up as Koyama lifts a hand, hesitant, almost shy, his eyes searching Shige’s face for any sign of rebuff. When he finds none, he finishes the motion, his fingertips ghosting across Shige’s cheek slowly, tenderly. His touch is warm, familiar, intimate but chaste at the same time, and Shige leans into it without thinking.

“I’m sorry I left,” Koyama continues, and his tone is earnest, bitter regret lacing the words. “I didn’t realize… I didn’t understand…”

He sounds so conflicted that it makes something inside of Shige ache. Koyama strokes his cheek lovingly, but there’s a pause in each motion, like he’s afraid Shige will push him away if he presses too hard. And Shige is still hurting, still feeling that terrible mixture of betrayal and distress, but the emptiness from before is gone. He feels whole again. For the first time in months, he feels _right_. And he realizes then that this is a feeling that he never wants to lose again.

It’s an impulse, reaching for Koyama, pulling him forward and down until their lips meet. Koyama is still stumbling over his apology, trying to explain himself, but the words are lost between them quickly.

It’s different from the first one, this kiss. It’s softer, less frenzied and more timid. It’s hardly adventurous, and it lacks the kick that the first one did, but when Koyama slides his hand around to cup the back of Shige’s neck and pull him closer, his other hand curling into the fabric of Shige’s shirt, a quiet sort of intensity buzzes through Shige, vibrating through to the deepest part of him. And when he finally begins to coax Koyama’s lips open to deepen the kiss, it feels a little bit like liquid fire coursing through his blood.

Beneath the physical sensations, though, there’s something else. An undercurrent of something he can’t put a name on, something far beyond his capacity of understanding. It brushes his against mind – his _soul_ he realizes shakily – hesitantly, and it feels strange, foreign, but at the same time soothing and so inherently _Koyama_ that Shige could recognize it anywhere. _Let me in_ , it says to him, not in words but in feelings, _Let me give you what you need_.

Shige can’t deny it; not when it feels so warm and comforting. It feels like safety, almost; like nothing can touch him, not with Koyama here. It’s tantalizing, intoxicating, and too strong – too good – to ignore.

Shige lets go.

This time, it’s deeper; more complex than it had been before. The near-maddening force from before is gone, replaced instead with something gentler, more delicate. This time, it feels less like slamming into a brick wall made of sheer, inhuman power and more like he’s easing into the shallow end of a pool of water.

It starts with emotions. Not just his own – although those are still there, but more subtle, easier to bear – but Koyama’s too. It startles him, how strong they are, the force of them so powerful it’s nearly crippling. It has never occurred to him that Koyama, being what he is, might feel things differently than he does, but now it’s readily apparent that he does. The intensity of them all is shocking, so much more than Shige himself has ever felt before. Some of them are frightening, some make him hurt so badly he wants to curl into a ball and disappear into nothing. Others are warm and make him feel a sort of joy he doesn’t think he’s felt since he was a child.

Thoughts come next, and _oh_ , there’s so much he can’t keep up. They’re jumbled and tangled and in knots so convoluted they’re impossible to untangle. Some are fleeting, gone before Shige can even acknowledge them. Others scream so loudly he thinks he might never recover. It’s staggering, the sheer volume of it all, but some stand out more than others, and he thinks that these are ones that Koyama wants him to know. So he pushes away the others, fights past the heavy hum of noise they emit, and pulls the important ones close.

And in that instant, he understands. He _knows_.

They part. Shige isn’t sure who initiates it, but it doesn’t matter, because the instant they’ve separated, his lungs burn and his chest heaves and he wonders just how long they stood like that, clutching at each other and sharing something so much more intimate than anything Shige has ever experienced before.

He thinks he might be crying – he might be bawling, actually – but he can’t bring himself to care; instead, he just lets himself tip forward, buries himself into Koyama’s waiting arms and lets himself be held. Koyama clings to him too, and Shige feels something warm and soft settle over his shoulders; lighter than air and more comforting than any security blanket could ever be.

“Do you see?” Koyama asks him, whispers it into his shoulder, and his voice is raw, unguarded; afraid. “Do you understand now?”

Shige doesn’t trust himself to speak, just nods in jilted movements. Because he _does_ understand now. He understands everything; why his soul prayed when he himself never would, why Koyama was one to receive it, the instant draw he’d felt towards the angel from the first moment they’d met, the crushing devastation and sense of abandonment he’d nearly crumbled under when Koyama had left him behind.

In that instant, Shige knows that Koyama will never leave him again, Heaven be damned. Nothing is worth losing this; whether that thought is Shige’s or Koyama’s, it’s impossible to tell, but the truth behind it is unmistakable, and as Shige lets himself bask in the feeling of Koyama’s wings stretched out protectively around them both, hiding them from the world, he lets himself think of things like forever and love without feeling afraid. With Koyama, he knows, it’s okay.

A million words run through his mind – fated, connected, meant for each other, _soulmates_ \-- but none of them are adequate for this; none of them even come close. Only one does, simplistic and basic and so damn right: _mine_.

“Always,” Koyama promises, curling closer still, and Shige thinks that, for the first time in his life, there’s not a trace of loneliness left in him.

And there never will be again; not so long as he has his angel.

  
END


End file.
